


4 Times Peter Nureyev Spoke Brahman and 1 Time He Meant to

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [24]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 4 + 1, 4 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Healthy Communication, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Other, Shower Singing, for comedy ONLY, i get to wax poetic ab how much i love juno in this one you guys arent ready, nureyev accidentally lets a thing or two slip in his mother tongue, peter nureyev is SMITTEN, without realizing that hes not the only one on the ship who speaks it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: The language of his planet wasn’t exactly the most difficult for Peter Nureyev to part with. Anything that reminded him of the comforts of home was strategically suppressed with time and careful practice. In fact, any strange or telling comforts were suppressed as well.Only after several months aboard the Carte Blanche did he realize he was laughing at streams he insisted that he hated and listening to music he’d long since spurned, if not for a specific alias. Even though a part of him felt more trapped than ever, it was at constant war with the urge to relax, and he had to say, it often felt like the urge to relax was winning.(Free!) Commission for Starhilm !!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 165
Kudos: 313





	1. Pet Names

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starhilm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starhilm/gifts).



> Gonna be a 4+1 rather than the intended 5+1 (one of the chapters got a bit heavy and i thought it better to just proceed without it instead of waiting forever for mental health and whatnot to improve just for the sake of just a tiny bit of angst), but it's gonna be updating daily like usual and in a basically chronological order!!
> 
> This one's pretty soft ngl
> 
> Content warnings for alcohol mention, food mention

The language of his planet wasn’t exactly the most difficult for Peter Nureyev to part with. Anything that reminded him of the comforts of home was strategically suppressed with time and careful practice. In fact, any strange or telling comforts were suppressed as well.

Only after several months aboard the Carte Blanche did he realize he was laughing at streams he insisted that he hated and listening to music he’d long since spurned, if not for a specific alias. Even though a part of him felt more trapped than ever, it was at constant war with the urge to relax, and he had to say, it often felt like the urge to relax was winning.

Among these old-new comforts were slips of the tongue, be them pet names or waxing poetic or anything in a home language he had held onto for convenience so long that he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. 

Most of the time, comfort bloomed best when in common company. His tongue didn’t often like to slip unless he was murmuring sweet nothings into Juno’s hair and occasionally pausing to translate. Some words didn’t carry quite the right magnitude from one language to another, but he supposed the tone of his voice and the touch of his hands in slow circles on Juno’s shoulders would translate where he could not.

He often didn’t allow such vulnerability to show in front of the remainder of the crew. The first rule of thieving, he reminded himself, was to never betray an iota of one’s true identity in one’s presentation.

However, sometimes, with flour in his hair and Juno’s arms around his waist and Rita laughing at them both, some things just couldn’t be helped. 

“Juno,” he groaned, though the affectionate roll of his eyes received only a kiss to the nose in return.

“Ransom,” Juno mocked in the same tone. 

“You’re making fun of me,” Nureyev scoffed. “You powder my nose in flour, force me to hunt for a spoon you were holding—“

“And kissed you,” Juno interrupted. “Wet flour on the lips.”

“My torment knows no bounds,” Nureyev huffed. 

He would have freed an arm to place a hand upon his forehead, hoping to receive a roll of that lovely eye he had fallen in love with. However, his hands were far too happy upon Juno’s waist to ever consider moving them. Nureyev didn’t have it in him to mercilessly end such a grounding moment, especially not with Juno’s hands at the small of his back, the two touches keeping his feet on the floor while his head spun up into the stratosphere. 

“Mistah Ransom?” Rita interrupted, stopped halfway between the snack cabinet and the entrance to the kitchen.

Nureyev blinked, a gaze he had realized might as well belong to Duke Rose breaking somewhere within the depths of his eyes. 

“Yes?” He cleared his throat, as if that would make the appearance of a flour-blanched apparition in the kitchen any more forgivable.

“How come you’re covered in flour if there ain’t flour in tonight’s recipe?”

Nureyev opened his mouth to fill the silence with a reply, but Juno beat him to it with a laugh. 

A younger Nureyev would have been offended, but a younger Nureyev wouldn’t have ever seen himself making dinner for a crew he almost called family aboard a ship he almost called home. He had sworn off any kind of lapse or failing, be it alcohol during a heist or pretty faces who made his heart swell within his chest.

Perhaps he was violating a rule or two of thieving when casting a gaze like a lover’s tender hand upon Juno’s cheek and allowing his head to spin at the sound of another’s laugh. However, he had violated plenty of rules of thieving in the name of happiness before. He doubted another could do much more damage.

“Yeah, well I told Ransom to get the salt, which apparently he’s never seen before, because—“

“Oh, do be quiet,” Nureyev huffed back to himself. 

“Look, if you need help, there’s always that stream docuseries I watched that one time,” Rita offered.

“Rita,” Juno warned, though his voice shook with a laugh. 

“Which White Kitchen Powder is Which and How to Tell: Volume 3.”

“Thank you for the offer, though I’m afraid I would rather learn from experience,” Nureyev replied as loftily as his petty temper would allow him.

“Lemme guess,” Juno snorted. Nureyev couldn’t help but notice just how soft his scar-jagged smile had gone. “You’re just gonna flirt with me until you get me to do all the work.”

“My dear detective,” Nureyev began with a terse kind of patience that spurred Juno into another one of those laughs, earth-shattering and lovely in the same breath. “How could you ever accuse me of such a thing?”

“You’ve only done it every time we’ve had to cook,” Juno teased.

“Well, if Mistah Ransom’s gonna keep it up, then I’m gonna leave,” Rita returned.

She hurried away, though not before forgetting one of the bags of snacks upon the counter. Nureyev spared it a glance, but Juno shook his head.

“She’ll come back for it.”

“Before or after I seduce you into cooking dinner for me?” Nureyev chuckled.

As much as he could have held their little embrace forever, he knew, like all things heaven-sent, could not last. However, Juno did him the kindness of spinning in his arms, rather than forcing the two of them to part. 

“Here,” Juno grinned. As sweet as the feeling of his back against Nureyev’s chest was, the sound of his voice was clearly still an affectionate tease. “Now you can look over my shoulder while I show you exactly how much flour you put in a salad.”

“Oh, hush,” Nureyev felt himself smile into the crook of Juno’s neck.

They both knew well that Peter had no intention of learning a thing about cooking, but once his lips found their gentle place of worship below Juno’s ear, there was nothing either of them could do to focus anyway. 

“Someone’s friendly,” Juno teased.

“Aren’t I allowed to love you, my dear?”

“Nothing makes me feel loved like some asshole making my neck wet,” Juno snorted, though when Nureyev paused to shoot him a dirty look, Juno rolled his eye, reached for his head, and gave him a joking shove back down towards his collar.

“I’m feeling very appreciated right now, you know,” Nureyev murmured in place of sweet nothings into Juno’s ear.

“Look, do you wanna cook dinner or not?”

“Touché,” Nureyev huffed.

Whether it be the gentle press of his lips to Juno’s neck or the press of his thumbs into the knots in Juno’s shoulders, Nureyev was all too happy to continue doting over his partner when given a sweet little moment alone. 

Traded banter and insults eventually faded out into sweet nothings that meant everything to him, while eventually, he grew tired of such an active adoration and replaced the kisses with his arms around Juno’s waist and his head tucked into his shoulder, gently swaying in time with the movement of Juno’s deep and soothing breaths.

A younger Nureyev would have been embarrassed at how far gone he was for his lady, though Peter had long since learned not to feel shame for appreciating the very things the world was created to hold. There was no need to feel embarrassed for worshipping a goddess.

He couldn’t help his eyes from trailing over the back of Juno’s hand with all the tenderness of lovers exchanging letters, their only comforts in the knowledge that once, this tiny scrap of paper in a great, cruel world, had been held within the hands of their darling. 

Even the way Juno held his knife was so distinctly his own, from the careful arcs of his wrist to the too-tight grip of his knuckles around the handle. It was graceful and utilitarian in the same tiny moment. Nureyev felt as if those fingers had knotted themselves into his very soul and twisted it into something beautiful.

He hadn’t realized he had started a murmuring mantra of pet names and adorations and sweet nothings until Juno paused him, an old Brahman love letter between spouses still dying on his lips.

“What’s that one mean?” Juno paused, his voice thick with a smile.

Nureyev opened his mouth to answer, but a voice from behind got there first.

“Ooh! It’s that thingy married people on Brahma call each other,” Rita supplied, wincing when Juno jumped about a foot in the air and nearly toppled Nureyev over. “Sorry.”

“Rita,” Nureyev panted before Juno could do more than swallow his shock. “How do you know—“

“Oh, well my mom always said the best way to overthrow a government is to communicate, so I had to learn,” Rita shrugged, reaching for the forgotten bag of snacks. “She said she mighta been from there, but I dunno, that’s also super classified and stuff.”

“Between spouses, huh?” Juno grinned.

He turned to face Nureyev, arms crossed and a knowing grin sliding across his face. Nureyev sputtered.

“Not always, if that makes you most comfortable,” he winced.

“It means spouse, Mistah Ransom,” Rita returned slowly, her cackling fading away as she began to trail out of the room. “Pretty sure it means spouse.”

“Well, does it?” Juno inquired once the two of them were left alone with their salad again.

“It slipped,” Nureyev confessed. “I’ve heard it before as a term of endearment between partners, even if that’s not the technical definition.”

“It’s cute,” Juno smiled.

“Beg pardon?”

“Yeah, not just the whole going red because you called me something sweet thing,” Juno snorted, pausing to bring Nureyev back into his arms again. 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when Juno’s knowing grin refused to budge.

“You can call me it again if you want,” Juno added.

“Oh,” Nureyev found himself smiling as well. “And you’d like that?”

“You’re a thesaurus of pet names,” Juno chuckled. “I don’t mind you getting creative.”

Nureyev barely remembered the nickname having bloomed from his lips at all, having just slipped away like so many of his other walls and rules of thieving. 

At times, keeping his identity was like tending to a flame that sat at the palm of his hand. He could cave his shoulders in and bring it to his chest and fold himself around it, but that would not stop the cold, harsh winds of the world from biting at his fingers to get to that little light. That would not stop enemies from trying to spit at the palm of his hand or threaten him with a douter. That would not stop the flame from beginning to eat away at him as well.

However, when shared with another, the little fire felt more like light than destruction. He could share it the way two cold people shared body heat, and at times, the fact that another person knew of his struggle and loved him nonetheless was enough to keep the flame from going out altogether.

Brahma and its people and customs and language all blazed as a dying cinder atop his hand. When Nureyev murmured the pet name again, just in time for Juno to kiss it from his lips, he felt it spark once more.


	2. Shower Concerts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyy here's part two!! expect more comedy in this one it's a good time!
> 
> Content warning for some implied explicit lyrics (essentially nureyev sings in the shower without realizing he left the door open and both rita and juno know exactly how clean Brahma's equivalent of WAP is) and minor comedy-by-embarrassment (not horrible though I can't stand that trope)

The concept of Peter Nureyev was like a well-loved book Juno had read time and time again, trying to pry more than what he knew from the pages, regardless of the weakening of the binding or the crinkling of certain favorite sections. He was a kind thing to remember, at the end of the day.

Whether for the sake of sweet memory or to give himself a pang in the chest just to prove he wasn’t entirely numb, Juno had done most of his pouring over the book in the last year. Late nights and early mornings and passing thoughts had considered that barb of a subject time and time again. 

His wonderings were at worst, painful, begging to know where he might be now or if Nureyev would ever forgive him. At best, they might be mundane little nothings that still carried twice the gravity they should have.

Juno wanted to know what he looked like lost in thought or reading a good book. He wanted to know what Nureyev looked like yawning and stretching and getting up on a lazy morning with no threat of danger facing him for the day. He wanted to know how Nureyev clung to somebody when he felt he could fully relax and fall into a routine, rather than hanging onto someone for warmth or convenience or as a reminder they were still alive. He wanted to know how Peter Nureyev took his coffee and did his eyeliner and brushed his teeth and showered, and for far too long, he had been convinced he would never get the chance to know.

A few twists of fate saw Peter Nureyev swinging back into his life, and after a gala, a heist, and a gentle conversation, those answers began to fall into his lap.

He began to know and love the way Nureyev raised an eyebrow when lost in a monologue of thought, as if addressing his own counterpoint. He creased his brow when reading a particularly good book, and he stretched and yawned like a housecat getting up from a sunspot nap when he had to rise from bed. He spent his early mornings quietly begging Juno not to drag him off to breakfast, for there was nowhere he’d rather be than with his head tucked into Juno’s neck and his arms around his waist. Even then, Juno was never the one to convince them out of bed, though Nureyev would cling to him until he got his coffee, which he took black, or his tea, which he took spiced and well-steeped. 

It was a blessing to know this man, and to know that he did his eyeliner in a single flick that was as impossible as he was. Even though Juno was well aware he wasn’t the only person to bear witness to it all, knowing someone who had pledged to be unknowable filled his chest with pride and affection in equal measure. He was aware that this knowledge wasn’t necessarily secret, but it felt like whispered nothings between lovers nonetheless.

The one thing Juno knew for certain was the answer to his query regarding how Nureyev showered.

The answer had been one that changed over time, for his showers had initially been quick enough that he never got into any disputes over hogging hot water. When he had started using Juno’s bathroom a little more frequently, he left the whole room smelling vaguely of two or three products and a cologne Juno could always exactly place. 

When, as Juno had noticed, the line between Peter Ransom and Peter Nureyev began to blur and Nureyev stopped seeing reason to request sugar in his tea if he didn’t like it, the showers got longer as well. They always remained within reason and never hogged anyone else’s water, so Juno couldn’t complain. It was nice to see him relaxed, and even if he could never quite piece together what was happening in that head of his, unwinding.

It was another thing, however, to hear him relaxed.

“Good morning,” Juno greeted Rita through gritted teeth and over the sound of nearby singing, paused every few measures to break into some kind of mumbling about shampoo or soap or body wash as the performer’s focus switched to the next product he would make Juno’s bathroom reek of.

“Sounds like somebody’s in a good mood,” Rita laughed.

Juno tugged the collar of his unseasonably high turtleneck a little higher. 

“Mhm,” he grimaced, taking a moment to hide his face behind his coffee.

“I think I might know that song.”

“Whatever you do,” Juno warned. “Don’t tell him.”

“I know, Mistah Steel, I’d be real upset if I found out you all could hear my shower karaoke,” Rita shrugged. “It’s why I shut the door.”

“Yeah, he always fights me on that,” Juno snorted, though he felt the look on his face grow affectionate. “Says it’s better to let the moisture out or something.”

“Huh. Never thought of that,” Rita mused. 

“Yeah, what even is that song?” Juno started again, his mug frozen halfway to the table in thought.

He squinted, eye fixed on a random patch of wall, as if that would do anything to help his pondering. He could nearly place the melody, and with the help of the Brahman classes he took as an elective out of requirement, he could almost place a few words. 

Juno felt his face grow hot when most of those pieces and parts of rapid lyrical work turned out to be phrases and words he and Mick and Sasha had looked up on their comms without any teacher authorization and decided to keep in their back pockets just in case they ever needed to insult or talk dirty to someone from the Outer Rim. 

“Mistah Ransom!” Rita sputtered, the path of her hands to her mouth nearly knocking her cereal astray. “I can’t be hearing this.”

“God,” Juno groaned into his hands, unsure of when his face had made a pillow of his palms and his fingers had knotted into his hair. “If you tell him you heard, you know he’s gonna kill me, right?”

“What’s he gonna kill you for?”

“Not telling him to enjoy himself quieter,” Juno snorted, finally managing to pry his gaze from behind his fingers. “You know what the worst part of this is, Rita?”

“What’s that, Mistah Steel?” Rita grimaced.

Juno huffed, a grin that was adoring and disbelieving in equal measuring sliding across his face.

“Listen to how fast he’s going,” Juno said, then paused for Nureyev to provide the example. He winced to find his silence immediately followed by a line he was certain had been written just to terrify the parents of all teenagers listening to it. 

“I don’t wanna listen to any more of this, Mistah Steel.”

“What I’m saying is that it means he knows it really well,” Juno snorted, though he couldn’t help his smile from softening.

Rita shook her head. 

“You must really love him, huh?” 

“What?” Juno sputtered. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mistah Steel,” Rita started. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t find this kinda cute. I mean, that’s an opinion and all that, but I’ve known you long enough to kinda think it might be your opinion.”

Juno met her faux-impatient gaze with his faux-offended one. His mouth opened and closed, as he found no retort within him, no matter how much he scoured his mind. He could definitely see how Rita might be a little pissed, but in no world could he argue that a sign of his boyfriend relaxing and beginning to let go of all those painful little habits that kept him professional and on edge wasn’t cute. Whether or not he thought Nureyev was cute most of the time didn’t matter. 

“That’s exactly what I mean, boss,” she chuckled, letting out a relieved sigh when the singing and sound of running water both ebbed away. “I’m gonna go blast my right side of the tracks music from my shower.”

“Rita,” Juno started before she could stand. “You’re not gonna say anything, right?”

“Right, Mistah Steel,” she returned.

“Promise?”

“I’m erasing it from my brain already,” she said in form of goodbye as she turned a corner in the kitchen to do away with the dregs of her cereal and leave as fast as her legs would carry her.

Juno didn’t have long to ruminate over their discussion, for Nureyev soon made his way down the hall, as composed as if he hadn’t ever needed to shower or do his makeup, but rather, rolled out of bed ready for a photoshoot that morning. Juno knew better than that, for he had seen Nureyev agonizing over his daily routine far too many times to forget it.

“Morning,” he greeted with a little tip of his coffee mug. 

Nureyev returned the sentiment by strolling over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, both hands on the back of his chair and a grin on his face. 

“Good morning, dear,” he smiled, voice a little rough from his solo.

“Hey, I caught a couple bars of some song on the way out of the bathroom this morning,” Juno started, praying his voice wouldn’t betray him and start to shake with stifled laughter. 

“Oh?” Nureyev prompted. If he shared a sliver of the heat in Juno’s face, he didn’t show it.

“Yeah, what was that?” 

“A sweet old love song,” Nureyev lied through his teeth. “Dedicated to you, of course.”

Juno felt his jaw drop at how quickly the excuse had rolled off of Nureyev’s tongue, as pretty as a pet name, wrapped and packaged and sent off with a bow to sweeten any sentence. He knew Peter Nureyev well enough to know he was a good liar, so the ease of the white lie shouldn’t have surprised him. Had Nureyev not immediately followed it up with a sentence he certainly didn’t have the ability to unpack at such an early hour, he would have confessed to his knowledge of the language then and there.

“Sap,” Juno snorted instead, praying he could hide his flustering as well as Nureyev could hide his fibs.

Any difficulty Juno had stifling his emotions dissipated when Nureyev squeezed his hand and took a seat across the table, his chin on his palm and a bright look in his eye as he scanned his partner. Juno couldn’t help but smile in return. After a moment, however, his eyes narrowed, as if he had caught something just off about Juno’s expression.

“What’s that smile for, love?” He mused.

Juno snorted.

“Nothing,” he grinned. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

He supposed, in a way, it was true.


	3. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! Make sure to note the changed tags on this one, little bit of violence and some minor hurt/comfort coming up (happy ending though i cant NOT do one of those)
> 
> Content warnings for blood, alcohol mention, implied violence

Nureyev wasn’t exactly one to rank his favorite heists, but he certainly couldn’t complain about an easy mark and an excuse to see Juno in a pale blue gown. 

Mere hours ago, he had seemed ethereal. Even though Nureyev could distinctly hear the click of his heels on the dancefloor as they twirled their way past socialites and bankers and investors alike, lightening spirits and purses as they went, he wouldn’t have surprised if he looked down and saw that Juno was floating, rather than walking. In the liquid gold light of the ballroom, his smile shone a little brighter and his scars, revealed by the low cut of his gown, sat like nobility atop the throne of his skin.

Of course, Juno also yanked him down from the stratosphere to snort and make a crack about the ridiculous haircut of the nearest mark, though Nureyev knew without such moments, Juno would hardly be his Juno at all. He was a lady in every sense of the world. On the one hand, he could silence a room just by walking into it in a gown, wearing an ancient nobility around his shoulders like a thick fur coat. On the other hand, the title was equally befitting of someone getting cut off in traffic, and just as frequently paired with a rude gesture as a bow.

Juno the goddess seemed to set Nureyev alight when he leaned up to his ear to whisper something. Juno the person made an affectionate laugh bloom from his chest when he said that Nureyev should wear shorter heels next time because Juno could see up his nose.

Nureyev knew he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything at all had they not set out on an easy mission. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea how the pair of them managed to work well together if his eyes kept circling back to the line of Juno’s jaw or all the little colors streaking their way through his iris and if his thoughts were no more professional.

As much as he knew he’d ruminate and agonize over his performance later, for the time, he knew he couldn’t be blamed. It wasn’t his fault he had been assigned a mission with a goddess.

That performance would have been far more forgivable had the mission gone exactly to plan. However, like most things in Nureyev’s life that were meant to be easy, he hardly had time for a few half-decent thefts and a quick dance before things crashed and burned.

“You’re going to be alright, dear,” he managed through gritted teeth, trying to remember the way the evening and Juno’s cologne had gone to his head before that scent, as smoky-sweet as bottled nostalgia, could be replaced altogether by the choking tang of blood.

“You and I have different definitions of okay,” Juno groaned into his shoulder.

Even if he sounded far from well, he was, at the very least, still feeling something, shock yet to sink its teeth into the blaster wound staining his pale blue dress wine red. Although a part of Nureyev lurched in panic at the sound of any anguish in the slightest, he forced his jaw tight and the arms around Juno tighter and reminded himself that he could worry about worrying once the both of them had managed their getaway.

“Just stay with me, love,” Peter continued. 

He pulled Juno a little closer in his arms, as if that would do anything to rectify the amount of training he had wasted on speed, rather than strength and lifting ability.

“What, like I’m just gonna walk off?” Juno snorted, an octave above his usual speaking range.

“You know what I mean,” he returned, perhaps a little too sharply. If that was so, Juno didn’t show any sign of it, his hands merely scrabbling at Nureyev’s neck and shoulders to keep a decent grip. “I need you conscious for now, my dear.”

Juno furrowed his brow, possibly a wince as Nureyev’s running jostled him. Peter opened his mouth to say something apologetic, but Juno cut him off first.

“You know, you don’t have to carry me bridal style every time I get hurt somewhere,” Juno tried to joke, his smile a little too delirious to reassure Nureyev about the quantity of blood that had long since rendered the front of his suit ruined.

“What would you have me do, throw you over my shoulder like a house fire victim?” Nureyev scoffed.

“Call it a sack of potatoes, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Nureyev replied, perhaps a little too tersely.

Juno hadn’t managed his request of holding onto consciousness, but Nureyev had a feeling that under the same circumstances, he wouldn’t fare much better. He had gone slack in a way that left him an uncomfortable weight in Peter’s arms, nothing alike to those evenings where he would haul Juno off to bed after a few too many streams, when the weight of sleep was gentle and relaxed and Juno still moved, doing his best to tuck his head into the crook of Nureyev’s shoulder. Rather, his weight was a stranger’s, clunky and haphazard and threatening to bring the both of them toppling downwards until Nureyev could get him back to the Ruby 7.

His arms didn’t stop shaking for far too long after he had been left to Vespa’s care. At first, he had assumed them to be twitching with the strain of carrying another for such a distance at such a speed. However, when the ache, slightly too sharp to be the pleasant twinge of exertion, faded and his hands refused to stop shaking as well, he did what he did best in times of crisis and retired to his quarters.

Nureyev was scrubbing the blood from his forearms when he realized he had not retired to his own quarters at all, too lost in memory of the last time he had washed this much blood off his hands. Rather, autopilot had driven him to Juno’s shower, while a robe he had stolen for his partner had somehow made its way around his shoulders. 

He paused himself. He let out a deep breath. He allowed himself one brief moment to pull the robe tight around himself and catch a whiff of Juno’s shampoo before he filed the evening away.

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology and the skill of the ship’s doctor, Nureyev managed to secure a visit relatively soon after Juno awoke. Realistically, Juno needed rest more than he needed any treatment that could come out of a surgery or a pill bottle. However, Juno, lovely, stubborn Juno, had bitched and moaned for an excuse to see his partner until Vespa had stormed into the common room and demanded either Peter Ransom or his head on a pike.

Nureyev had gone with the former option without much deliberation needed. 

If he was being honest with himself, Juno looked bad. The circles under his eyes were a mile deep and his blue dress had been traded for a jaundiced hospital gown that barely hung around his arms and shoulders, looking boxy and doing nothing to help the fact that he still looked a little gray. However, when he blinked and winced and raised his head, trying, despite everything, to smile, Nureyev felt his stomach cease twisting itself into a knot.

“Love,” he breathed. Juno didn’t need to do much more than open his arms for Nureyev to wrap him in the softest hug his desperation would allow. “God, don’t you ever leave me again. I don’t think my poor heart could take it.”

Nureyev hadn’t realized the words had crossed his lips until he felt Juno’s brow furrow against his shoulder. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Juno had already pulled away, erasing whatever emotion had crossed his face with a laugh.

“I don’t think I know that one,” Juno chuckled, and only then did it strike Nureyev that he hadn’t murmured such a private and potentially painful thing in Solar. “Sounds long for a pet name.”

For some reason, Nureyev couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t being entirely honest. However, with Juno’s hand lingering on his cheek and his eye a certain tired kind of sweet, he found he couldn’t bring himself to pursue the matter for long.

“It means that I missed you, dear,” he returned, pausing himself to kiss Juno’s forehead.

“Sorry I slept through your bad day,” Juno murmured, his smile widening when Nureyev took a seat at his side.

Nureyev couldn’t even open his mouth to speak before Juno reached for and missed his shoulder, instead settling for his head in Peter’s lap and his arms thrown haphazardly around his waist. Nureyev had no choice but to let his hands fall to Juno’s head, one against his cheek and the other trailing a consoling touch against his scalp.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing,” Nureyev assured him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Better now you’re here,” Juno yawned. “You think Vespa’s gonna let you stay?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, a fond smile blooming upon his face as Juno, clearly pulled by the weight of synthetic sleep, cuddled a little closer with his hand.

“Maybe if I—“ Juno broke off to stifle another yawn, turning it instead to a sleepy sigh that shattered Nureyev’s heart in two. “Fall asleep on you, she can’t make you move.”

“Oh, she’ll make me,” Nureyev chuckled.

“Maybe not yet.”

Nureyev knew it was only a matter of time before exhaustion or medication or a crash from the stress took Juno under again, and he also knew Juno would likely wake up sore and tired and far below the stratosphere. However, for the time being, he took his time to cherish a moment where things were not as bad as they could be. Juno would heal and his heart would stop fidgeting uncomfortably in his chest every time one of them shifted. 

The future would be kinder than the present, and with Juno Steel dozing off in his lap, he could believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw!! Cuddles for all!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill SNUGGLE YOU BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !


	4. Dishing it Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one slaps gird your loins
> 
> Content warnings for implied/referenced sexual content, some smoochin (nothing heavier than T rated, but it's a bit of making out)

“I don’t think I can do a heist like this ever again,” Juno huffed halfway through the door, not caring who might see his fingers carding through and systemically discarding all of the elaborate straps connecting his gown with the ring of gold around his neck that he was supposed to store separately, or some bullshit.

“It went exactly to plan, love,” Nureyev returned, though even his sternness couldn’t hide amusement. 

Juno had long since learned that the most annoying, most useless complaint known to mankind could saunter its way past his lips and Nureyev would still fix him with a soft look he couldn’t quite place. The closest expression he had ever seen was when on one planetary date, Peter caught sight of a raccoon stealing a woman’s wallet. Whatever it meant, it was fond, and only a little patronizing.

He supposed they were a match made in heaven in that regard. He liked to complain and Nureyev liked to hear it.

“That doesn’t mean I had to like it,” Juno continued with a fabricated glare that nearly cracked with Peter’s fond chuckle.

“Of course not, dear,” he returned loftily. “Humor me, Juno. What exactly about the heist did you dislike?”

Peter Nureyev, of course, would have the nerve to look gorgeous while making fun of him. It didn’t help that he was still dressed like a prince from centuries past, though Juno had a feeling none of them would hold a candle to him.

Even in the dim light of Juno’s quarters, Nureyev might have been anointed in the holy glow of an ancient painting. He still stood with the cautious poise of his alias, though not without enough of a forward lean for Juno to know exactly why his eyes, glinting like obsidian, kept flickering from Juno’s lips to his neck and back. His makeup still glittered, a work of art upon an even more artful canvas. 

He was still shadowed, however, so a fair portion of Juno’s appreciation of his appearance stemmed from his memory of how he had looked in the glittering light of the ballroom. Alexander Noble, or whatever Nureyev had named himself this time, was intended to be a charming man on the other end of the ballroom. He was meant to sweep the single security guard’s hand into his and laugh at all his jokes and sweet talk sweet nothings from his lips while Juno pocketed the gemstone. 

Nureyev’s job had been to draw every eye in the room. When Juno found himself barely able to complete the heist, he knew for certain Peter had succeeded.

Juno realized he had been silent for a moment too long when Nureyev raised an eyebrow. 

“Dear,” he began, wrangling his smirk into a look of concern. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Juno huffed.

“Who, me?”

Nureyev had the nerve to close the aching space between them, if only by a single step forward. With the top of his gown dangling somewhere between mostly on and mostly off, Juno couldn’t exactly decide if the curve of Nureyev’s teeth in that newly bared smile made him feel over or underdressed.

“Juno,” Nureyev started once more, his teasing lower and sweeter and somehow, making Juno’s petulance evaporate. “We made a promise to be honest with one another.”

Of course, Peter took that moment as the perfect one to raise his gloved hand to Juno’s cheek and cup it. Juno wasn’t entirely sure how something so light and sweet and reverent could threaten to set him on fire, but his heart continued to double its pace regardless. 

“You know,” Juno began, clearing his throat so his voice would sound even remotely steady. Nureyev’s thumb worshipped a gentle line along his cheekbone in defiance of his partner’s attempts to hold himself together. “I kept thinking about how lucky I was all night.”

“How lucky you are to see your partner wooing other men?” Nureyev chuckled, light and sweet as anything.

“Nah,” Juno snorted. “I mean, hell, I’m enough of a professional not to derail a heist because you’re doing your job.”

“Well—“

Juno’s glare cut him off.

“I just kept thinking that the whole scene—you being gorgeous or whatever and that guy falling head over heels for you after an hour—yeah, it made me kinda pissed that it wasn’t me, but hell,” Juno broke off to shake his head. “Every other day of the year, the world looks at you and me the exact same way.”

“Oh, Juno,” Nureyev smiled, the stroke of his thumb slowing for a moment as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Juno’s other cheek. 

Juno was well aware his lipstick had anointed a mark upon his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“I’m the luckiest lady in the goddamn galaxy,” Juno grinned. “Why the hell would I ever wanna be some guy at a party you flirted with once when I can have you every day?”

“Have me, hm?” Nureyev teased.

Juno glared.

“Shut up, I’m being open about my feelings, or whatever,” he huffed. 

“Well, my dear, I thank you for your candor,” Nureyev returned, barely restraining his laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, my dear detective,” Nureyev mused, a smile blooming like a wine-dark rose upon his lips. “I’m hoping to reward your honesty with a bit of my own.”

Juno raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

Nureyev pressed a kiss to his temple, and for just a moment, Juno felt he had some grasp on why the spot where his lips so often fell was named for a place of worship. 

The brush of wax-stained lips upon skin was as brief as it was tender and as tender as it was life-changing. It was the kind of sensation that made Juno feel as if he could reach to the all-consuming mass of space around them and pluck a star from the void like a child carelessly plucking leaves from a tree. He could tangle a hand into the entrails of history and rewrite time itself. With Nureyev’s lips making a pilgrimage upon his brow, fear and pain and misery all trembled at his feet.

One hand had pressed into the small of his back while the other continued holding his face. Juno was glad of them both, for he shivered when Nureyev all but whispered into his ear. 

“I think this may have been the hardest job of my life, my dear detective,” he murmured. “I couldn’t think of a single accolade for the man that didn’t already belong to you.”

“Sap,” Juno accused.

Nureyev’s lips upon the bolt of his jaw silenced any other thoughts, leaving only a quiet gasp of air upon his lips.

“I couldn’t call him my dear or my darling or my love,” Nureyev continued. “You’ve stolen all those words from me. I suppose you’ve made out to be a far greater thief than I ever could’ve imagined. I couldn’t call him the loveliest face I’d ever seen, let alone the object of my worship. It would be sacrilege, of course, after so long in devotion to a goddess.”

Juno could’ve stood there all night with Nureyev’s lips and words dancing on his neck and his hands pressing them so close together that when their chests shifted, Juno couldn’t tell which one of them was breathing. 

He only broke away with a lazy grin and a gasp competing on his lips when Nureyev’s train of pet names trailed back to that one Rita had recognized in the kitchen. Rita said it had meant something that almost translated to wife, while his own research had turned up a reverent piece of poetry that made his head spin and his chest get embarrassingly fuzzy. 

“Keep saying that one,” he breathed, unsure when his voice had gone so husky or when the gentle sound of Nureyev’s laugh had gained the ability to make his knees go weak.

Thankfully, Nureyev held him a little closer by the small of his back to keep him upright. All Juno had to do to stay standing was try to pry his mind off of the feeling of their hips, almost pressing together. 

Nureyev repeated himself, then continued on with honeyed words that Juno raced to translate as well as his high school classes and more recent research had allowed him.

“My treasure,” Nureyev blessed him, pausing to kiss once more underneath his ear. “The love of my life. You hold a piece of my soul in the palm of your hand, my love.”

“I love you,” Juno interrupted, voice strained as his head tilted back to allow Nureyev better access.

“I love you too,” Nureyev answered. Juno’s head was too far in the clouds to register which language the words had been spoken in. “Dear Lord, I haven’t practiced poetry in Brahman for so long.”

Juno blinked, opening his mouth to speak, but Nureyev continued, words still sweet and hot on his neck.

“Well, I suppose he doesn’t speak the language, so if I avoid cognates, he’ll be none the wiser,” Nureyev considered. Juno would have laughed if Nureyev’s hand hadn’t begun to trail lower, inch by inch. “God, I have to do the dishes tomorrow, don’t I?”

He purred the question out the way he would have whispered a seduction into the ear of a mark. Juno had to hold his breath to keep a grin off his face.

“I so thoroughly dislike the feeling of wet food on my hands, but I suppose—“ Nureyev broke off when Juno finally bent double into his shoulder, wheezing out a laugh while Peter’s hand made an embarrassed retreat away from his ass. “Dear—“

“If you want help with the dishes,” Juno began, words stopping and starting and tumbling out with his chuckle. “I’ll help you with the goddamn dishes.”

Once Nureyev righted him on his feet, he fixed Juno with a look so grave he might have been facing down the sight of his own headstone.

“You speak—“

“Took a class in high school,” Juno explained, pausing to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. “And started doing some free thing on my comms after I noticed you were picking it up again.”

“You understood all of it?”

“Well, most,” Juno returned apologetically.

“I—“ Nureyev’s expression soured when Juno broke him off to laugh.

“I thought you caught on after I looked at you funny for dropping a spoon and threatening to fuck its grandfather,” Juno explained.

“It’s a rather ancient expression,” Peter lied through his teeth.

“Yeah, sure,” Juno grinned, though it faded into something a little softer and a little more genuine when he laid a hand upon Nureyev’s upper arm.

Nureyev paused, somewhere between internalizing and processing and filing the entire conversation away. When Juno gave his arm a little squeeze, the turmoil of his face parted to reveal a soft little smile that made Juno’s heart skip a few too many beats for its own good.

“I like it,” Juno insisted. 

Nureyev’s mouth opened in shock, but he quickly closed it.

“Beg pardon?”

“Yeah, it’s like you’re opening up a little more,” Juno explained. “I know you’re a private guy and all, but it just—I dunno. It feels like you’re comfortable around me.”

Nureyev’s smile broke into a grin, though not the million dollar beam that had shined upon his mark that evening. It was soft and unpracticed, just a little lopsided in a way that made Juno’s heart feel about ready to burst. He had gone to all the trouble of trying to seduce Juno with sweet nothings, and yet, all it took to nearly set him alight was one little smile that Juno wished he could save forever like a ship in a bottle.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to say. “My apologies for subjecting you to certain more personal thoughts.”

Juno snorted.

“None needed.”

“Regardless,” Nureyev pressed on. “If I seem more comfortable, I’ll admit, it’s because I am, dear. I’ve found a routine, and I’m happy to say you are quite the important part of it.”

“God, I love you,” Juno breathed, just in time for Peter to kiss it from his lips.

When they broke, it was with Juno’s fond chuckle.

“Just promise me one thing, okay?”

Nureyev hummed in place of words, an eyebrow raised.

“If you’re gonna talk dirty to me, don’t talk about actually needing to clean something,” Juno snorted.

Nureyev rolled his eyes, though a fond smile parted his lips.

“Juno Steel,” he huffed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWAHAHAHAHA TIME FOR THE PLUS ONE LETSAGO! fun fact juno does duolingo
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or I'll kiss your mom
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	5. Communication (+1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY!!! this one's gonna be soft
> 
> Content warning for food mention (brief discussion of cooking)

Nureyev’s private musings did not stop so much as they altered themselves, the way one shifts into a new angle of comfort after a stretch or a heavy sigh. While he fought for some time to taper them away, the urge to close himself off and keep his thoughts quiet began to fade. 

Before he knew it, he had taught Juno a few extra pet names and a handful of jokes that didn’t quite translate back correctly. He murmured sweet nothings on a bridge between the two languages while Juno burned breakfast, his eye fluttering shut and his body weight leaning backwards as Nureyev coerced Juno into ‘helping’ him with his scheduled cooking once more. 

He supposed these little worded windows to a self he had never wanted the world to know were not half as dangerous as his name. Perhaps, for a trusted individual, he might pull aside that curtain.

Juno went about that subtle little change with all the enthusiasm of his other attempts to act upon those things they agreed on in private conversations. He wore every attempted pet name with an accidental charm as he teetered between nervousness and gusto. 

Even if the syllables and pronunciations tumbled from his lips with all the grace of a baby giraffe learning to stand, Nureyev couldn’t help the clench in his chest he felt when he tried them. Juno would fix him with the same nervous little smile he wore when he first called Peter his partner or asked to take him to dinner, and Nureyev would be struck by the realization that he was the luckiest man in the galaxy, time and time again. 

Peter Nureyev wasn’t a man who liked to be wrong. As such, he had taught himself to be a very quick and very private learner. Anything that was new was an open opportunity for failure, and as such, he had dedicated himself to treading lightly. 

Learning to navigate this great experiment, be it with language or pet names or the great, roiling mass of feelings in his chest that all swarmed around Juno Steel, was not a quick learning process. Nureyev could not commit the entirety of his partner to memory overnight, nor could he draw back his own curtain with a fling of his arm, as if baring himself to the burden of being known were as easy as memorizing the locations of cameras for a heist. Peter expected to hate it far more than he did.

However, he supposed it was not entirely unpleasant for certain things to take a long amount of time.

There was, of course, a stake in being wrong in where to draw lines and which subjects should be treated tenderly and which should be avoided altogether. However, the chance of that sweet reward in making it all work far outweighed any twinge of regret or ache of painful, earnest conversation when something was to be amended.

He supposed love was not something he could master in a quick burst of study. Neither was Juno Steel. If such things were to take time, however, he could not think of a better way to be spending it.

Those statistically impossible bonds that connect people to one another were not subjects to be studied in a vacuum, nor works of art to be judged and perfected to textbook, technical perfection. 

Nureyev could not merely supply Juno with affection until the movie-magic bliss of happily ever after drew its sword and saved the damsel and beat away his demons singlehandedly. Juno couldn’t murmur Nureyev’s name and home language with equal reverence and do away with exactly why Peter would have him say them softly.

Love meant learning. Love meant work. He surprised himself in finding simple bliss in both.

Loving Juno never felt like labor, even as difficult as dredging his own emotions from the back of his head could be. It felt like a cloudy mind or a skip of his heartbeat or a strange, childish giddiness when he was meant to be composed. It was a great landslide of things that should have been failings and vulnerabilities and lapses. However, he found a direct correlation between slips of his tongue into Brahman and how often he began to indulge these feelings.

Any part of him that wanted to do away with that strange bundle of soft and joyous nerves at the center of his chest was neatly filed away that evening when Juno’s hands came to rest on his lower back and his face yawned its way into the kind of lazy grin that made Nureyev feel as if he were seeing him for the first time, and perhaps, by some trick of luck or fate or movie magic, falling for him all over again. 

“Hey handsome,” Juno teased upon breaking from his yawn.

“Love,” Nureyev began patiently, although a knowing smile spread across his lips. “I’ve always found it quite rude to speak to your own reflection while in the company of a gentleman.”

Juno snorted, though Nureyev knew his annoyance was feigned when he pulled him closer. Peter supposed he had learned a new language for himself when he deciphered exactly how Juno said ‘I love you’ when words themselves were too difficult. Of course, with enough time placed between the present and the start of their relationship, Nureyev supposed it only made sense that he had learned such things by now, but his chest swelled with pride nonetheless. 

“Shut up,” Juno huffed.

“Never,” Nureyev assured him with a kiss to a brow that couldn’t bear to be knit in faux-anger for more than a moment.

Juno softened considerably as another yawn overtook him. This time, rather than merely his face relaxing, his entire body seemed to shudder out a layer of stress and he slumped with accidental force into Nureyev’s side. Peter accommodated, of course, guiding Juno’s head to his chest as a pillow while his arms slumped over and around the rest of his torso. 

Nureyev couldn’t help a grin as his hands found their familiar spots. One lay on Juno’s back, drawing a slow and gentle vertical line. The other busied its fingertips upon his scalp, massaging circles upon the patches where hair had been cut short and drawing careful lines and patterns until he found those spots that made Juno heave out a sigh and press his nose against his sternum, going gradually more and more limp as Nureyev’s hands worked through the tender rituals.

Peter Nureyev had never spent too long worrying about the rest of his life. He never planned past his next heist, and he had never wasted a single moment of his adolescence as a newly one-man operation pretending he was the kind of person who had a future. However, such things sounded so much sweeter than the alternative when the future he wanted meant hearing Juno’s sleepy little sighs and feeling the press of his familiar body weight for the rest of his life.

Nureyev paused in his careful touches to press a kiss to the top of Juno’s head. Juno hummed in appreciation.

“You’re so sweet on me,” he slurred out, walking a wavering line between the waking world and the gentle embrace of sleep.

“I would be a fool not to,” Nureyev returned softly. A sympathetic yawn threatened to tug on his words, but he managed to bury it.

Juno merely sighed, his words lost to the fabric atop Nureyev’s chest when he buried his head a little more insistently into the patch of shirt above his heart and murmured something indistinguishable. Nonetheless, Nureyev had heard salesmen and politicians alike speak with less persuasion than Juno Steel grumbling something into his shirt. 

There was nothing like such a moment to lower his inhibitions and think boldly about the idea of a future with Juno Steel.

“God, I want to be married to you,” he murmured to himself, another statement in that series of self-directed Brahman he had expected nobody to understand.

He expected Juno would be able to translate such a thing. He also expected Juno to be asleep.

However, Nureyev’s heart froze, unsure whether to drop or double in pace when Juno raised his head, his lazy grin replaced by a wide eye and his mouth agape.

“I was just thinking aloud, dear, my sincerest apologies,” Nureyev began to sputter. “I know we’ve just been discussing the matter and what the both of us would be comfortable with regarding our own personal tastes and histories and ceremonies and whatnot, but—“

“Yes,” Juno breathed, and not until he kissed him did Nureyev realize his confirmation hadn’t been in Solar. 

It wasn’t the best kiss of Nureyev’s life, nor was it the best kiss with Juno Steel. In fact, if he had to rate such occasions on a technical scale, he doubted Juno pressed into his chest and leaning over him while his chin tried to make a nest of his own neck would even be in the top five. However, he couldn’t bring himself to care, for Juno’s hand was on his face and a promise of a hundred thousand tomorrows, all tied by the same thread of gentle, loving labor, was being pressed into his lips.

It could have been the worst kiss of his entire life, and Nureyev wouldn’t have cared. Juno Steel had just agreed to marry him, and his confirmation had been in Brahman.

“My dear,” Nureyev breathed when he finally managed to resurface. 

Juno chuckled, perhaps a little too loud and close to his ear. Peter couldn’t blame him, sure his head was clouded with as much giddiness as he. 

“Sorry if you had something a little showier planned,” Juno tried to say without smiling.

“Perhaps we can discuss such things in the morning,” Nureyev grinned, dragging Juno back to his place upon his chest. “Why don’t we discuss our futures when the both of us are awake?”

“Ugh, but that’s in hours,” Juno whined.

Peter hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you think you’ll still want to marry me in the morning?”

Juno blinked.

“Is there some kind of translation of ‘yes’ as ‘maybe’ that I didn’t hear about?” Juno snorted, though his words began to trip over themselves until they fell headfirst into genuineness. “We’ve talked about it already and I’d like to talk about it more, but, hell, we’ve put in the work. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t see why not?” Nureyev teased.

“Shut up,” Juno laughed as his head fell back into place upon Nureyev’s chest. He was almost sure Juno could hear his pulse pounding. “I think it’s gonna make me happy to marry you. That better?”

“Much,” Nureyev chuckled. He pressed a kiss into Juno’s forehead for good measure.

As much as he wanted to stay up all night discussing the matter, exhaustion and years of knowing it well had tugged at his eyelids faster than he could register. Juno didn’t last much longer, his sweet murmurings turning to incomprehensible mutterings as they blurred with yawns and fabrics and his head falling into Nureyev’s chest.

Their oncoming discussion with the morning would have rendered a younger Nureyev panicked with the feeling that he rapidly approached a test he did not and could not study for. However, with Juno Steel on his chest and in his arms and with a promise of a life together still dying on his lips, Nureyev couldn’t think of a thing in the entire galaxy to be concerned about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN!! IM--man. somft. Hope you all enjoyed my first attempt at an n + 1 !!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill HOLD YOUR HAND
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!

**Author's Note:**

> WOOHOO!! First one down!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or youre not invited to my birthday party anymore
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


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